White Wolf (17 page)

Early the next day, the emigrants were ready to cross the Kansas River. Wolf snapped orders until the wagons were lined up at Pappan’s Ferry Crossing long before the first sign of daylight. Joseph and Louis Pappan ferried emigrants and their wagons and oxen across the Kansas River for six-plus dollars per family.

He threw himself into the hard work of lowering the wagons by rope down the steep banks to be loaded onto boats, which consisted of two canoes bridged with poles. Each boat held two wagons and ten to twelve oxen. Once they reached the other bank, double teams were required to pull the wagons up and away from the river. The crossing took all morning. When the last wagon was loaded, Wolf stood on the bank of the Kansas River, hands on his hips and feet spread. The loud protests of cattle drew his attention downstream. James and Jordan were herding them into the water.

As soon as the last of the cattle and horses were safely across, Wolf led the wagons upstream to a relatively quiet spot far from the crossing confusion, then stopped, giving the emigrants another day to rest. The men tended to their animals, then a few took off on foot to try their hand at hunting, while the rest sat around smoking their pipes or napping. But for the women, there were endless tasks that needed doing, the most time-consuming being the laundry. Anne and Eirica knelt at the stream with piles of soiled garments. Kerstin and Hanna knelt beside their mother, soaking the clothes in the river.

Jessie and Coralie joined them, their arms full with not only their own soiled clothing but also that of their brothers. Coralie had also volunteered to do Rook’s wash in return for cooking lessons. The women grimaced at one another as they plunged their hands into the ice-cold water. Word spread that the women were doing laundry, and before long the single men in their party had shown up with bundles of dirty clothes. The men, abhorring the idea of doing woman’s work, offered good pay to Eirica and Anne to do theirs.

As the day wore on, Jessie found herself watching her sister-in-law. She couldn’t believe the overnight change. This morning Coralie had returned to camp wearing a pretty calico dress of cream and blue, the same style worn by the other two women, and on her feet, she wore brand-new boots. Jessie hid her grin. Never had she thought to see the day when Miss Priss dressed in plain, everyday garb.

Beside her, Coralie stood and shook out her skirts. “Look how wet and muddy my skirt is,” she wailed.

Jessie and Anne rolled their eyes at each other and watched Coralie move to a less muddy spot before plunging her hands back into the water to scrub one of Jordan’s shirts. “Well, some things haven’t changed,” Jessie murmured with a soft chuckle.

Eirica bit her lip to keep from laughing. She called out to Coralie, “Don’t worry, Coralie. That dress’ll wash and be as good as new.”

That brought on another groan. “I never want to see another dirty piece of clothing again. How can there be so much? Look at my hands. They’ll never be the same again,” she finished sadly, staring at her hands.

“Welcome to the real world, Corie,” Jessie said, wiping a stray curl off her forehead. She stared at her own hands. Between the harsh soap and the cold water, they all suffered with red and raw hands. Silence fell. Jessie hid her grin, knowing it would be only a matter of time before the complaints started up again, but for all her griping, Coralie did her fair share. Not once had she tried to weasel out of it, and that alone amazed Jessie. She sneaked another glance at her
sister-in-law, noting her flushed cheeks and her eyes sparkling with a hint of some inner knowledge.

Jessie sat back on her heels when the last of the clothing had been rinsed. This time it was she who groaned as she stretched the kinks from her aching back. Together she and Coralie carried the wet clothes to a group of trees, where Jordan and Elliot had strung lines of rope. When they were through hanging the clothes to dry, Jessie moved to help Eirica and Anne finish theirs. Her jaw dropped when Coralie silently joined her. She’d assumed that once she was finished, Coralie would hightail it back to her tent. But without complaint, she began the process all over again, assisting Anne, which left Jessie to help Eirica with the children’s clothing.

Much later, the last load was hung out to dry. Eirica rubbed her lower back. “Thank the good Lord that’s done,” she said with a moan.

The others echoed her sentiment. Jessie was just going to suggest putting on some water for coffee or tea, but Jordan came up behind Coralie.

“If you ladies don’t mind, I’d like to take my wife for a walk before dinner.” Coralie blushed and smiled shyly at her husband. Hand in hand, the couple left.

Jessie and Eirica looked at each other and grinned. Jessie shook her head, confused. “I can’t believe the change in her. What did Jordan say to her last night? She’s even wearing the clothes he bought for her.”

Anne laughed. “Oh, Jessie, it’s not what he said; it’s what he did.”

This time it was Jessie who turned pink from the neck up. Raised in a household of men, she wasn’t totally innocent of what went on between a male and female, married or not. “But Anne, they’ve been married over a week. Are you saying they’ve not, uh, you know…”

The older woman grew solemn, her blue eyes serious. “I think your sister-in-law feared the marriage bed, but seeing her today, I think it’s safe to say that your brother convinced her that there’s nothing to fear.”

Eirica broke in, her tone wistful. “She’s lucky, so very, very lucky to have a kind and gentle husband. Not to mention being surrounded by her family,” she finished, her voice dropping to a mere whisper.

Jessie bit her lip and lowered her gaze to Eirica’s hand, which rested on the gentle swell of her abdomen. “Oh, Eirica, I wish there were something I could do,” she dared to say aloud. She wanted to put her arms around Eirica’s shoulders, but she didn’t dare in view of the others.

Eirica straightened and shook her head. “It’s not your problem, Jessie. You’ve helped a great deal just by listening and being my friend. Back home, Birk never allowed me have friends of my own, but here, on the trail, he can’t do much to prevent it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll treasure each day and pray that when we get to Oregon, we can find some way to remain friends.”

A lump formed in Jessie’s throat, and she reached out to squeeze the other woman’s hand. “Don’t worry; we’ll always be friends,” she whispered, averting her gaze from the fading bruise on Eirica’s cheek. She wished there were a way to get back at Birk for some of the pain he’d inflicted on his wife.

Jessie realized her wish several days later when she was out walking along the river to get away from Wolf’s bothersome presence. Heading upstream, away from the long line of wagons camped along its banks, she followed the beckoning cool, blue river. Though she was tempted to stop and bathe, she didn’t dare. She’d have to wait until dark, and even that was becoming risky, as she’d discovered last night.

Luckily, she’d already dried and dressed when Wolf had come strolling out of the darkness. That close call had sent her heart into a panic, and as she’d fled back to her wagon, she could have sworn she’d heard him laughing. There was something else that disturbed her: his smile and easy banter.

Rounding the bend, she stopped when she noticed a lone man bathing in the river. She turned away to give him his privacy, but stopped when she recognized the angry, muttering voice. Dropping down to her hands and knees, she crept forward. Yep, it was Birk, and he was drinking. She watched him toss his flask to the bank and stifled a groan, knowing he’d likely return to his family drunk.

Staring at his clothes, she plotted. Perhaps she could take his clothes and delay his return—but then she discarded the idea. It’d just put him in an even nastier mood. She glanced at the sun’s position to gauge how long she’d been gone. That was when she spotted it—a hornet’s nest—high up in one of the cottonwood trees at the water’s edge. Her gaze shifted from the hornets back to Birk, and she bit her lip to still the gurgle of laughter that threatened to spill forth. Even as she wondered if she dared, she was pulling a slingshot from her back pocket.

Her eyes narrowed when she remembered Eirica’s bruised cheek and the finger-sized bruises she’d seen on four-year-old Alison’s arm that morning. Yes, she dared. Searching the ground for several small stones, she kept an eye on Birk, waiting until he ducked his head beneath the water. Taking careful aim, she fired three rocks in rapid succession. She heard his cries of pain echo past her as she fled.

On day sixteen, the emigrants arrived at Alcove Springs. Jessie stood below the rocky ledge of the falls. Above her, clear springwater spilled over the brink, falling ten feet to splash into a large pool at her feet. Behind the waterfall, she spotted a dark alcove carved into the rocks. Reaching down, she dipped her fingers into the pool and shivered. It was icy cold. She quickly abandoned the idea of trying to get behind the falls to explore, and instead opted to soak up the beauty surrounding her.

The spring was heavily timbered with oak, cedar, ash and a few other trees green with the delicate color of spring. Around the rocky pool, lush grass mingled with a provision of wildflowers. Color bloomed everywhere, lending a romantic aura to the setting that her fingers itched to commit to paper. Bending down, she picked a small yellow flower. Twirling the thin stem gently between thumb and forefinger, she inhaled the sweet scent while staring into the pool at a large rock with a name and date etched into its surface.

Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered. Like most emigrants, she’d heard the horrible story of the Donner party. At least James Frazier Reed’s mother-in-law, Sarah Keyes, had been spared the horrific winter her party suffered when they became stranded in the Sierras. At the age of seventy, she’d died here of consumption. Traveling with them, Edwin Bryant had given the springs its present name, while another member of that ill-fated Donner party, George McKinstry, had carved the name above the brink of the fall.

Jessie forced thoughts of the Donner party from her mind, grateful that Wolf, for all his hateful ways, was an experienced guide who tolerated no lolling about. He set a hard pace, and she, for one, could fully appreciate it after this reminder. Her gaze swept the area, absorbing the historical surroundings. After climbing the small hillside, she stood over the ledge, watching the water spill downward. The sun warmed her as she lowered herself to the ground and sat, half-hidden by the branches of an ash tree growing ten feet below her.

Tipping her head back, Jessie sighed with contentment. In the last week they’d traveled over the gently undulating prairie past St. Mary’s and Scott Springs, covering a hundred and
sixty-six miles in sixteen days. She yawned. Being able to sit and do nothing felt so good, but it also left her feeling guilty. She felt bad that neither Anne nor Eirica had the luxury of much free time with their husbands and children. They were kept busy every minute of their day. Even when they rode in the wagons, their time was put to good use as they knitted winter sweaters and mittens or mended torn shirts. She’d even caught Anne mixing bread dough so it could rise while they traveled.

Jessie brushed a fly from her nose. But whether married or single, with or without children, there was one task that fell to the uprooted women. They were recorders of life and death. Each day, the number of graves passed was noted in their diaries, and sometimes, if the markers were legible, the names of the unfortunate souls might also be written in the daily entry. And the same went for births. Just yesterday Anne had assisted in the birth of a baby boy.

But always birth seemed shadowed by death. Jessie recalled two rock-covered graves of children that she and Eirica had passed earlier that day. Eirica had grown quiet, hugging Ian to her breast as they walked past the tiny mounds of earth that gave testimony to the harshness of trail life. Jessie recorded their names in her diary, and suspected Eirica would do so also.

Pushing the depressing thoughts from her mind, she leaned back on her hands, her chin pointed toward the sun as she let her mind wander. It was easy in this idealistic, romantic place to imagine being alone in the secluded pool below to bathe and frolic in the dark, mysterious waters, surrounded only by lush greenery. Flipping over onto her stomach, hands propped under her chin, she frowned and watched a small bee buzzing at some wildflowers near her elbow; then she picked up a small rock and tossed it over the falls. It landed in the pool with a splash, shattering the perfect stillness of the water.

As she watched the rippling rings in the water grow larger, moving ever outward from that one small disturbance, she felt as if Wolf were a rock that someone had dropped into her life. Each day the ripple of awareness grew, leaving her confused, disturbed by her thoughts and feelings for the wagon master.

Ever since the night he’d relieved her from guard duty early, he’d become much friendlier. Anxiety rumbled through her, but she wasn’t sure why. Plucking a blade of grass, Jessie chewed it and contemplated the changes in Wolf’s attitude. During their first week on the trail, he’d found fault with whatever she did, but during this last week, he’d quit criticizing her and no longer piled on the extra chores. But he hadn’t stopped watching her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he watched her more. Her brow knitted with confusion. Why? What had changed between them? An unpleasant thought occurred to her. Did he know?

The thought that he knew her secret didn’t sit well with her. Her fingers nervously picked at the grass as her mind raced with the possibilities. After a few minutes, she discarded the notion. She just couldn’t imagine him remaining silent. But then, why was he being so nice to her? Every time she turned around, there he was with a helping hand—which astounded her.

From cold and aloof to warm and friendly. It just didn’t make sense. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her fisted hands, confused and unsettled by Wolf’s strange behavior—like last night, when he’d ordered her to demonstrate her knowledge of knots. She groaned as she recalled his insistence on teaching her a new knot. Wolf’s method of teaching involved lots of close contact: working shoulder to shoulder, his long fingers guiding hers as he taught her the squaw knot. When she’d mastered it, he patted her shoulder in a manly gesture of encouragement.